Page 9 of The Sweetmate (Check-In #2)

I have to take a moment to adjust how quickly she can switch from soft and willowy to a take-no-prisoners persona. “Allow boys to bake without question.”

Confusion crosses her face. “I don’t understand.”

“Boys can bake. It doesn’t make them less manly to bake cupcakes.”

“There are plenty of male chefs in the world. World-famous men who are well respected. Could you elaborate on what your mission is?”

“I’m talking about younger boys. The ones who when they first express that they’d rather bake than play sports become the subject of unwanted attention.

That’s what I want. That’s what I want to represent and be an inspiration for.

I want to help other boys overcome the stigma that baking is feminine. ”

Lisa’s stare lingers on me as she remains silent. Her eyes feel as though they’re beginning to peel away layers of my skin. I’m uneasy under such scrutiny.

Finally, she says, “You’re speaking from personal experience. You probably had to face some teasing?”

“Teasing.” A humorless chuckle leaves me.

“Try constantly being referred to as a ‘domesticated male.’ Like I’m a stray they’ve caught and house-trained.

” I grab my glass of water off the table in front of me and down it.

“All my friends ruthlessly teased me when I chose the cooking classes and home economics courses in junior high and high school. What jock cooked? I’d claim it was to be with a certain girl or something, but of course, rumors were spread that I didn’t even like girls.

Because I enjoyed baking? What the hell did that have to do with where I stuck my dick? And what did it fucking matter?”

I stand up and begin pacing the room. “The worst was my father.” I pause. I’ve never confessed what happened with my dad to anyone. I clear my throat and shrug. “He thought it was stupid.”

“Did something happen?”

“Nope.” We’re not going to discuss my father. I should’ve never let that slip. Lisa was right, we need boundaries. That area’s a hard no for me. “Anyway, I want to show that baking should be enjoyed by all. There’s no gender in the kitchen. And chefs can be just as sexy and hot as any athlete.”

“Casey—”

“Do you know the richest chef in the world is male? What’s really interesting is that he makes a staggering amount of money, more than any athlete. Even the second richest celebrity in the world is also a chef, and he makes as much as top-paying athletes.”

She reaches over and places a hand on top of mine. “You can talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.” I slowly ease my hand from under hers. “Football was the sport most of my friends obsessed over.” My lips curl into a devious smirk. “Ask me how much I make versus how much they make as a high school football coach.”

“How much?” Her returning smile is infectious.

“I don’t want to brag, but let’s say my paycheck has a few more zeros behind it.”

Lisa taps her pen against her notebook. “Have you thought about speaking at schools?”

“What?”

“A guest speaker at high schools. You said you want to influence young people and be an inspiration. Go to them. Be there for the kid who might be having a hard time due to their confectionery creations.”

“Confectionery creations,” I repeat.

We chat more about strategies for my socials, until it’s time to go downstairs to the hotel restaurant.

The network execs for this baking competition are mainly interested in the ratings I can pull, but they also want to ensure I’ll be on my best behavior.

I zone out most of the conversation, only paying attention when Lisa speaks.

Every time any small talk is thrown in, she veers it back to the main topic at hand.

She’s all business and not there to make friends.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop losing myself in her expressions, passion, and sweet voice.

Why is it that women throw themselves at me at every turn—which is why I’m known as a womanizer—but now the one woman I do want to womanize or have relations with is completely off-limits?

I can’t even be the superficial, glorified asshole that society has made me out to be.

Sleeping with my publicist would definitely throw gasoline on the fire my uncle is trying to put out.

Unless… Oh, I’ve come up with the sweetest creation yet.

I lean back in my seat as the waiter places my plate in front of me. I smile up at him and thank him.

As he walks away, Lisa asks, “Are you excited for the competition?”

She’s probably trying to bring me back into the conversation.

I can’t even hide the enthusiasm in my voice.

“You have no idea. I can assure everyone that this is going to completely change the public’s image of me.

They’ll finally see the real Casey Riis.

I’m still that goofy guy who likes to joke around and tease, and not the playboy they think I am. I can’t wait to reveal myself.”

Lisa chokes and sputters. “Poor choice of words. No revealing.”

“Why? What’s wrong with a reveal?” I love the color that creeps up her neck. Holding her stare, I playfully say, “Okay. I want to expose myself.”

“I think I liked reveal better. Fine. We’ll tease and say the ‘The big reveal: the real Casey Riis.’”

The others at the table nod and agree that they like her idea. Of course, I snicker. “I appreciate you using the word big reveal.”

“Referring only to your ego.”

I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun eating dinner.

Lisa comes off as too serious, but she’s actually quite witty.

She’s the exact opposite of what you’d expect her to be.

I’ve always been annoyed by people who fit into boxes.

I appreciate how direct and honest she is with me.

I also appreciate how her eyes eat me up when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention.

The waiter clears our plates and replaces them with plates of flan.

Lisa must take my silence as me being upset. “I’m sorry, did I hurt your fragile ego?”

“Despite what you think about my ego, I’m the type of guy who can take a blow.” I wink at her.

Lisa leans forward and whispers, “You strike me as the type who takes his blows prematurely.”

“Instead of assuming, why don’t you do your research and find out for yourself?”

Very slowly, Lisa leans back into her seat. She takes her spoon and scoops up some of the caramelized custard dessert. Her pink lips wrap around the spoon as her eyes fall closed. She deliberately releases a pornographic moan.

Well, that got the attention of everyone sitting around us.

“You play dirty!” I hiss.

The two execs clear their throats. One of them announces, “I’m certainly excited to try this now.”

I bet you are , I fume to myself. She licks her lips and then sighs. Leaning forward, I snarl.

“You’re faking it. That’s not a real foodgasm. Don’t act like this out-of-the-box monstrosity is as good as what I gave you this morning.”

“What makes you think it came out of a box? And don’t knock desserts from a box, okay? I can make an amazing Devil’s Food Cake from a box mix.”

“So you’re not denying that it was fake.”

We take a moment to stare each other down.

Who will break first? Instead, we both laugh and go back to eating the flan and paying attention to the other two at our table.

To be fair, the flan is delicious, but I plan to top it.

I’m going to make it so that nothing else can compare to the foodgasms I give her.

Those sounds of pleasure will only be for me.